


Tony Stark's Secret Diary

by Sparcina



Series: How Frostiron Could Have Started [14]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidental Confession, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And he is still a BAMF, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki Feels, Loki-centric, M/M, Mutual Pining, Obsession, Pining Loki, Resolved Sexual Tension, Secret Crush, Very Secret Diary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-03 23:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10977195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/pseuds/Sparcina
Summary: Loki has never meant to fall for a mortal. He doesn’t do love; he doesn’t do loss. When Tony starts avoiding him, Loki discovers something in the mortal’s room that could change everything.





	Tony Stark's Secret Diary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [STARSdidathing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/STARSdidathing/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Doing the Right Thing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10886838) by [STARSdidathing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/STARSdidathing/pseuds/STARSdidathing). 



> Mirror fic.  
> I couldn’t help it, obviously, because STARSdidathing's lovely pining!Loki=inspiration for more pining!Loki. QED. Her talented quill _does_ tend to distract me from my own litter of Frostiron stories. Thank you sweetening the fandom, STARSdidathing  <3

" _Without_ all due respect, Director, you've been out of the game for years. Ever heard about this thing called retirement?"

"GET OUT OF MY OFFICE, STARK!"

"You know, Stevie, if you just  _told_ Barnes about his pivotal role in your masturbation sessions..."

"Stop talking now, Tony, or I swear I will hurt you."

"Hey, Brucie Bear, I happen to know that you like Tasha, and Clint told me that she really likes it when a man... OW! What was that for?! Ok, ok, stop looking at me like that, Romanov, please? And that knife, could you please..."

Tony Stark talked a lot: when it was relevant and when it wasn’t, when he wanted to broach a touchy subject and should know better, and when he was bored, to end an argument that didn’t concern him directly by shooting technical terms at both parties until someone stormed out of the room or implored his mercy. He enjoyed being the center of attention and took pride in dazzling everyone in a ten-mile radius, a habit that would be laughable if he wasn't more charismatic than most Aesirs. 

Loki liked the sound of his own voice too, but he liked Tony’s even better. When he wasn’t busy parsing the words for a hidden meaning or a double-entendre, or planning a sharp barb in response to an equally veiled insult, he let that deep tenor tease his every sense. It wasn’t synesthesia, not exactly; it was Loki being open to Tony in every way that mattered, a god born in the cold helplessly attracted to the fiery determination and explosive temper of a mortal, an ephemeral heat that pulled at his icy core like the sun melted winter’s last whispers.

Loki had never wanted the throne; while he was fond of power, he could not fathom a life settling disputes and plotting war with Jotunheim, all the while confined to the same four walls. He needed motion. He craved change. He went as far as engineering it, should the rest of the universe prove averse to entropy.

It took him some time to realize the magnitude of his, well, _problem_. In other words, to understand how much Tony and he were alike.

The mortal’s lifestyle resembled a lethal whirlwind, without compunction or restraint. When Loki looked back at the millennia he’d roamed the nine realms, he found out a similar path of destruction, elation and selfish indulgence. The unwarranted attraction really shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

Loki sank in the leather couch, a glass of Midgardian alcohol in one hand. Scotch. He’d been suspicious of human beverages at first, but after two years of serving as an ‘evil’ consultant for SHIELD (which he despised on his best day) and the Avengers (which he tolerated on his worst day), he’d had no choice but to adapt. Adaptation, after all, was a common trend in every society bound to a higher degree of evolution; his unhealthy fascination for the man who’d built himself a suit of armor out of explosives in a cave was just another stage in his own voyage upwards, starwards.

Tony Stark was as much a distraction as he was an obstacle. An obstacle he had to overcome, because while he had great reserves of self-restraint, the way his mind yearned for its twin and his loins for that dark smile and agile hands promised greater pains. He had to get over that mortal, just like he’d got over Sigyn and Angrboda centuries ago. The only difference was that he wouldn’t get to taste and truly _know_ the other that time.

“Mortality.” He spoke aloud, aware that nobody listened. The scotch burnt all the way down his throat and soothed part of the ache in his chest. In over twenty hundred years, he’d never fallen so hard for another living being.

Brown eyes, brown hair, golden skin; an ever forbidding sweet for his teeth to sink in, always out of reach, always in his face, taunting, tempting, unaware of the desire it had awakened.

“Mortality.” This time, the words sounded bitter. Loki propped his naked feet on the glass table. Crumbles of spicy chips still littered the surface; Tony’s ‘lazy dinner’, as the mortal called it. Loki studied a broken piece, considering. Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached for the shard of fried potato and placed it on his tongue, opening his senses to the taste. He didn’t particularly like that human invention, but Tony’s scent lingered on the morsel, and with it the tiniest promise of scaring for his own bleeding heart.

He tasted grease, sweat, mortality. He savored what he could before breaking the chip down in tinnier pieces. He was a fool for doing it, he knew. For staying here and giving his longing free rein.

“You are a fool,” he said softly. Then he emptied his glass and magicked the half-full bottle of scotch in his free hand. “You are a fool and you will suffer for it.”

**OoO**

_Two months later_

He’d finally convinced himself to take an extended vacation in Muspelheim, to challenge a dragon or two, when Tony started acting out of sort.

He doubted any of the other Avengers noticed; even that red-haired killer who he liked and hated because she might have figured out his attraction for the resident genius made no remark. In her defense, the change _was_ subtle. Tony still spent days at a time in his workshop, still complained about paperwork, still talked his business rivals into a crying mess, still poked at Steve for being such a self-righteous idiot, and still burned half the kitchen every time he had a mind to cook (Loki had to intervene more than once to save the dinner).

One thing had changed, though: Tony avoided him. Loki couldn’t _not_ notice. He and Tony traded insults and scientific concepts on a regular basis. They threw threats at each other head’s (also empty on Loki’s part these days) and challenged their vision of the universe. They got along so well, and it broke Loki’s heart.

He couldn’t say if the new avoidance made it better or worse, but he got worried, and he didn’t do worried, not very well.

Tony still retorted with the usual wit, and threw tools at Loki’s head that never quite reached their intended target. But the smiles… They belied everything. Tight smiles, false smiles that didn’t quite reach those mischievous eyes. They still talked, yes, but it felt… forced. Uneasy. It was not quite like the first months of Loki’s consulting for them, and yet the memory hit his god like his brother’s hammer square in the chest.

So Loki turned in full detective mode, determined to find out the cause of that sudden change in patterns. He prided (and disgusted) himself in knowing how Tony worked, why he worked that way and for how long, because he was unnaturally obsessed and intelligent himself. He would find out.

The problem was, Tony had always been good at avoiding direct questions. For a few days, Loki considered throttling him and shaking an answer out of him, but he suspected he might end up ravaging him instead.

He observed. He studied Tony when the man slept (only creepy by Midgardians’ standards, or so he’d been told), spied on him in his lab. No fixation was healthy, but the more Tony withdrew from him, the more he had to know why. And if the infuriating mortal didn’t want to talk…

Another strategy was required, if he was to retain what was left of his sanity.

**OoO**

While Loki had always cherished his personal space, he had no qualms about invading the privacy of others. He winced (briefly) at the prospect of being caught by the very man he was spying on, but the doubts didn’t last; they never did.

“Good evening, Anthony,” he called as he left the communal kitchen.

The mortal didn’t look up from his sandwich. They had been alone in the room, and there was no music for once. Tony must have heard him, but nothing in his demeanor suggested he’d even been aware of the god’s presence.

This was the last straw. The mystery would end tonight.

He teleported himself in Tony’s penthouse. The mortal had done his best to install wards to keep him out, but Loki always found a way to go around them. His total disregard for walls and things like ‘personal space had started some of their most impressive arguments; the half-collapsed ceiling in the living room was proof of that.

Loki was surprised it was not fixed yet, but he had better things to do than wonder about repairs.

He took his time invading Tony’s domain, weaving a spell as he worked his way through every room. It was a spell of his own invention, designed to search reality for secrets of the soul.

“Of course it had to be his bedroom,” he groaned in pained tones. His chest tightening, he padded towards the open door leading to a vast and splendid room he already knew would be painted in clear colors. The bed would be huge, and the sheets rumpled, sweaty.

“Anthony,” he whispered, taking in the room. He had to resist the urge to throw himself on that bed and rub his nose in the sheets. He was a god, he reminded himself when the urge threatened to win the round against his pride. Gods weren’t pathetic.

The spell directed him to a bookcase. Loki ran a finger on the bindings, studying the titles. Books in French, in English and in German, about subjects ranging from engineering to anatomy. There were a couple of classic novels as well. Loki didn’t stop until he reached the one that made his whole hand tingle.

“Oh.” He might just have found what the lady Natasha referred to as a ‘secret diary’.

 _March 22 nd _(Two hundred and five days ago, he quickly calculated.)

 _This is driving me nuts._ He _is driving me nuts. I have no idea how long I can keep pretending._

 _He_. Loki went on reading, totally oblivious to the world around him.

The next entry was dated a couple of months later.

 _I had that dream again._ Loki’s finger skid across the words, soothing a visceral need he now suspected he could address. Impatience and satisfaction, and a feral affection, warred inside him as he drank up those confessions never meant for his eyes, and nevertheless penned with him in mind. _He rode me like he couldn’t possibly bruise, and for all intents and purposes, maybe he doesn’t, because he’s a God._ All the confirmation he needed appeared in those three letters. It didn’t occur to him once that his mortal could be talking about Thor, because for all his muscles and joyous smile, his adoptive brother would never, _never_ appeal to one like Anthony Stark. The mortal was his, and apparently, the attraction was mutual.

“The dream didn’t end there, though,” he read aloud, sensing how his own cock twitched as a debauched and sweaty Tony took form in his mind. “Before I could… climax…” his voice shook slightly, for his imagination had always been vivid, “we switched positions, and I found myself riding him. He filled every inch of me, hot and dangerously addictive. I didn’t want to wake up from that dream.”

He licked his lips, content to let silence have its turn for the next line written in Tony’s messy calligraphy. _I wish I could engineer that dream into reality._

“Loki?” The god stilled. He could use magic and put the diary back into place before the mortal could notice about who exactly he’d been reading, but he liked the alternative better. He was never one to go down the easy path, or the traditional one.

He turned around, careful not to move a single muscle in his face. He wanted Tony to have the full shock of how _needy_ he could make a god hit him unaware. The mortal would be all the more compliant for it, and Loki could put a term to this façade of indifference after they’d had a little _chat_ in the bed across the room. 

“What are you… oh. Is that…” Confusion morphed into anger, then disbelief.

Loki allowed his lips to curve just so. He saw the mortal’s eyes widen. If he hadn’t been watching him closely, he would have missed how his pupils slightly blew and his breathing sped up, and mourned that omission.

He fought it, Loki realized. The mortal held back.

Well. He wasn’t called the God of Mischief for nothing.

He closed the diary and sent it back to the bookcase with a flick of his wrist. “Oh, Anthony...” He licked his lips. “Why not tell _me_ those things instead?”

Eyes very wide now and pulse spiking (Loki’s eyes zeroed on his throat), Tony backed away from the predator in the room. Loki reined in the violent urge to intimidate the man further. It was not an easy feat: every single cell in his body wanted the proximity that would erase the numbing pain of uncertainty. He wanted to crowd him, to have him kneel not for his glory, but for the sweet sensation of his lips and tongue working at his cock.

When Tony’s back hit the wall, and Loki’s body pressed against his, the mortal lifted his chin, a challenging gleam in his eyes. Loki cupped his cheek, his thumb so light a touch it barely registered, and yet Tony leaned into that touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“What… things?”

“Your desire,” Loki crooned. He couldn’t exactly fuck with his voice, but he’d had two millennia to practice, and he was damn close to getting it right. The full-body shiver running up Tony’s spine, and the throaty moan leaping from his lips, encouraged him to claim the remaining distance between them. The hard length pulsating against his thigh acted like a balm on his recent chastity. “Those… sleepless nights you spent thinking about those hands roaming over your body.” He was glad of the confidence he felt now, for it would make that infuriating man, that secretive conquest of his, more pliant and incapable of lies. “Your… fascination for me.” And a god’s for you, he added silently.

Tony didn’t reply, but the way his body melted as Loki traced the line of his throat first with his fingers, then with his lips, was unmistakable. He bit down the man’s collarbone, intent on leaving his mark there, and everywhere as the night gave way to dawn.

Each thing in its own time.

“I shall kiss you now,” he said.

 Tony tilted his head back without prompting and parted his lips. “I might think it’s still a dream, if you keep on like this.”

Loki pressed his lips to the corner of his mouth, inhaling deeply. A part of him wished he could skip a few milestones and claim the mortal already, but another part of him, slightly more enthusiastic, wanted him to take it slow and make Tony pay for the hell he’d unwillingly put him through. He was convinced Tony was as loud in bed as he was on/around/under any other piece of furniture, and he planed to discover the full range of noises he could get out of him.

“This is not a dream, dear Anthony.” His thumb moved to his throat, and pressed against a thundering pulse, a soft reminded of his strength, and what it meant to tease a god. “You, my engineer, have very few fantasies you _can’t_ transfer to the material world.”

“I thought you said something about kissing me?” A breathy voice, challenging words. Loki snarled and set on doing just that, forcing his tongue in that hot mouth as soon as he locked their lips. Centuries of taking new lovers every few weeks had made him aware of the many, many ways to kiss, and he eagerly went down that very long list, checking boxes every few seconds: rough, a hint of teeth, lots of tongues, a necessary break every twenty-five point six seconds.

“God, if I’ve known you were interested...”

Loki silenced him by vanishing all their clothes and teleporting them to the bed. When Tony started rambling about Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle and quantum superposition, and how they should get to his lab like yesterday, Loki took hold of their cocks and gave them a lazy pull, firm and a little rough, not bothering to lube his hand just yet. Tony’s babbling stopped almost immediately.

“That is not quite the kind of physics I’m willing to explore tonight,” Loki crooned in his hear, his other hand reaching for Tony’s ass. The way those muscled thighs parted at the merest touch had him reward his mortal with a wide lick up his cock. Tony called his name, a loud demand that Loki was only too pleased to satisfy.

“Tell me, Anthony.” He pressed a finger in. When the mortal started to thrash under him, Loki’s patience went through the window; a defenestration of its own kind, shortly followed by the fast pumping of two fingers. Tony’s hole was looser than he’d expected, and he suspected why. “Have you touched yourself recently?” he asked, feigning indifference even as Tony’s increasingly loud manifestations of pleasure tore at his self-control. “Do you finger yourself at night, wishing it was me?”

“Yes?” Tony’s hips bucked twice. “Fuck, Loki, just take me already!”

“After you ignored my own need for so long? I think not.”

“I didn’t… ah, _yes_ , do that again!”

Loki chuckled, ridiculously pleased at how _responsive_ his mortal was. He took his sweet time stretching him, because even if Tony had been busy picturing their coupling while taking care of his own needs, Loki was not small by any stretch of the imagination. He wanted Tony to sheathe him fully. He told him so, when the mortal thought it a good idea to try and push him on his back to have his wicked way with him.

“Not today,” he murmured in Tony’s ears, massaging the man’s prostate. He was greedy for any noise, and especially his name. He didn’t care it if sounded like a threat or a prayer: he would be the only thing his mortal could think of, the only one he would go to for his pleasure; he would make sure of it. He would ensnare him, just as he had been ensnared himself.

“Not today,” he repeated, gentler this time, licking away the first of Tony’s tears. So _sensitive_. “But soon.” It was both a promise and a warning.

Tony arched his back, nails sinking into Loki’s back. Loki hummed as blood trickled down his buttocks and covered his thighs in red lines of possession. Would they look like the marks in his Jotun’s form?

“Loki!”

He’d meant to spend hours discovering that body. He’d intended to lick his way up those long legs and firm belly, to tease those dark nipples and caress those strong shoulders. He would have flipped the man on his stomach afterwards, to explore all the cicatrices stretched thin like collided paintings rushed by a thoughtless artist with his tongue and hands. 

“Loki!”

He’d meant to take the whole night for this, but in the end, he was only human in the quest of his heart. He pushed into him, eyes closed shut to better feel the delicious friction of their joined skins. He’d had to pin Tony’s wrists above his head to keep himself from coming first, because while Tony was only human, he was very quick to learn how to please a god.

He set a brutal, passionate pace, unable to ignore his mortal’s pleas for more. He thrust as hard as he dared, reminding himself ever time he slid out, and back in, that he _had_ to hold back, lest he hurt him more than he intended to.  
Tony’s words were crude and arousing, and as the litany broke just before his climax, the promises to fuck him back and suck him off became a series of Loki, Loki, oh, Loki! that hurried him along his own path to ecstasy.

For a long time afterwards, they lay side by side, shoulders touching and eyes searching. Exhaustion hadn’t exactly taken its toll yet.

“You’re more secretive than I thought,” Loki mused aloud, parting Tony’s lips with a finger.

Tony sucked on it. When Loki’s eyes narrowed to hungry slits, he released it with an obscene pop. “And _you_ are nosy. Thankfully. I…” His eyes darted to the ceiling for a moment, even as a faint blush crept up his cheeks. Loki _adored_ it. “I didn’t know how to tell you, in case you… you know, were not…”

“Interested? I should punish you for that misguided hesitation.” Loki propped himself on an elbow, one hand outstretched to trail down Tony’s chest. He felt possessive, and welcomed in his possessiveness.

His mortal rolled on his side, a familiar smile on his lips; a challenge.

“For making a god wait? Maybe you should.”

“And maybe you would like it a little bit too much.”

“Whatever makes you think that?”

Loki promptly shut him up with a kiss.

 

**THE END**


End file.
